Missing Teeth
by Unicorn of Castiel
Summary: Memories are like teeth. The whole set would be good, but one or two work well enough. Bucky wasn't completely alone whilst Steve was looking for him. You could call it an unlikely friendship. But the old lady sold plums, so it wasn't that unlikely. A one-shot of the first good memories Bucky makes after beginning to remember who he is.


**AUTHORS NOTE: I'm back bitches. T rating for two swear words...not including that one. There's some comic book canon referenced in this one shot that hasn't been in the films but it shouldn't be too confusing. Without further ado, Enjoy!**

* * *

"Don't suppose you've seen my missing tooth have ya?"

Bucky looked around the stall. No. The old lady was definitely talking to him. Even if her gaze was fixed over his shoulder and glassy. He stopped fingering the plums to look amongst the rest of the fruit.

"Sorry. I don't see it. When d'you lose it?"

The old lady gave him a wide beam, all gums. She was missing more than one tooth. That…that was the first time anyone had smiled at him in…It was the first time he remembered anyone smiling at him. He couldn't help but smile back.

"Today, if you'd believe it. It was my last one and all. You wouldn't believe how useful even one tooth is."

"I'm sorry," And he was. The old lady smiled again. "Do you have anyone who can help you?"

"I've got a son. You remind me of him. You're a good boy, you seem like a good boy."

Bucky wasn't smiling anymore. He picked up his plums. His first sorry attempt to regain his memory after googling _memory food._ Google. The internet. He knew how to use it all without knowing when he was taught. It seemed distressingly foreign and yet familiar all at once. The only thing he did know was that he wasn't good. He wasn't sure he wanted to remember any more details of why he was bad. He rolled a plum over the table of the fruit stall. The plum lady sensed his hesitancy.

"What can I do for you, then?"

Bucky looked up and tried to return to the conventions of social interaction. It was hard to get your head around the rules of society after so many years of ending it in murder.

"Just these six plums."

"I might be blind but I can still count. Don't take that away from me." The woman laughed to show her light-heartedness. Bucky still felt bad as he passed her the plums to be bagged.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," The woman's smile grew fonder as she rolled the plums into the paper bag. Bucky looked around the market again. He felt out of place. He felt like he was undercover. Putting his left hand in his pocket, the unhappy truth of the fact that he _was_ undercover sunk back in. Who else would wear gloves in this heat? "You got a name, hon?"

 _Wasn't that the question._ Bucky had read all about his name, it fit in his head. It fit in his head like a triangle block through a square window - but it still fit. Even if he was more certain over James Buchanan Barnes, he wouldn't have told the plum lady. He was lonely, he wasn't stupid.

"Jahmal."

"Strong name. Handsome name." The lady nodded. "I'm Magdalene. People call me Mag."

She held out the bag and Bucky smiled again as he replied, even if it was a lot of effort and Mag couldn't see him anyway.

"It's been nice to meet you, Magdalene."

"See you around, hon."

* * *

Bucky wasn't meant to let people see him around too often. That was the deal he'd enforced on himself. And yet he went to the same fruit stall for his plums. After a while, Jahmal talked with Mag for longer than his daily request for plums. He wasn't sure why he did it. He wasn't sure of much, lately, so that didn't make a difference. He _was_ lonely, but at the same time didn't want anyone around him. He didn't know how to be around living people who weren't going to strap him to that chair or lock him in ice. Mag's son worked long days, so they kept each other company. There was something that felt right about the old lady with all her teeth missing sitting with the old man missing all his memories.

It didn't have anything to do with Mag's blindness. Although it was nice to sit with someone who wouldn't question the bags under his eyes from his sleepless nights. Eventually, he built up the confidence to take his baseball cap off and tie his hair back to feel the breeze. Mag would let him sit on a stool behind the fruit stand and have a few free strawberries. He'd take off the glove on his left hand and crush some soft fruit for Mag to eat. She never questioned how he did it. Bucky told himself their friendship was just to practice his Romanian - like he wasn't already fluent.

"You got a taste for those plums, hon." The safety Bucky felt around Mag definitely didn't have anything to do with her being blind. She saw far too much through intuition.

"They're supposed to help your memory." He bit into a strawberry and threw away the stalk. He avoided Mags eyes like she'd notice.

"Hmm." She tapped her fingers on the fruit stall. "We've known each other a while now Jahmal. Would it be imposing for me to touch your face? Get an idea of what you look like? I wasn't always as blind as a bat."

"Err…" Mag didn't seem awkward with the question so Bucky made up for it. He was pretty sure face touching was a line you didn't cross in friendships. That probably only applied to people who could see. Mag stood unapologetically as she waited for his answer. "Sure."

It wasn't as awkward as he'd thought it would be. He only smirked a little bit. Mag nodded. Like she was imagining someone she could approve off.

"Handsome." She said as she put her hands back in her apron pockets. "Young. Wasn't sure. Sometimes you talk young, sometimes you talk like you've been around for centuries. What's someone your age got to look after their memory for?"

Bucky wasn't young. Bucky didn't feel young. The passers-by might not know it but the fruit stall was guarded by two pensioners. Bucky didn't tell Mag that. He wasn't comfortable with lying to her anymore. He wanted to correct her every time she called him Jahmal. But he still didn't know what to correct her with. James Buchanan Barnes felt dead to him. This time, he just didn't give her all the details, but the only ones he could remember.

"I had an accident," He picked at another strawberry. "Run in with a train."

"Hmm," Mag mumbled again. She spoke bluntly. "Didn't feel any scars."

"Didn't end up with many physical scars. Told me I was lucky that way. I don't think so. Memories are like teeth. The whole set would be good, but one or two work well enough."

Mag laughed at that. _Really_ laughed. It was dry and croaky and tears formed in her eyes. It was one of those infectious ones. Bucky laughed too, only a little, but it was the first time he'd laughed since…it was the first time he could remember laughing. He picked up a plum. Remembering the bad was too easy. There must have been something before that.

He didn't like to think about the blonde guy who'd told him his name. Steve Rogers. Captain America. The museum told him he'd been his best friend. All he remembered was beating him to a pulp. There had to be more than staring at the barrel of a gun. Mag had told him he was handsome, there had to be more than rolling out of bed covered in cold sweat and looking in that grimy broken mirror of his. There had to be more than running his hands through his hair each morning to get a better view of the monster and knowing for certain - the way he couldn't know anything else – _I am ugly inside._ If this is what friendship was, he had a new drive to remember every instance he'd had of it.

* * *

"You ever been in love, Jahmal, hon?" Mag asked one day. It was autumn and business was slower. They'd been rocking on their stools in companionable silence after another long stretch of Mag's reminiscences for her late husband. Bucky liked to listen. He'd sit quietly and hear about the lives of normal people. The beauty of the ordinary and family. If he was lucky, a content smile might crawl onto his lips as the hours passed by.

 _No._ The reply kicked in as fact. It was like a reflex. The daunting feeling caught up before the word could come out of his mouth. _I don't know._ Most days Bucky was numb to all his hell. It made him heavy and tired but he could lose himself in routine. Every now and then his reality would catch up with him. He'd been listening to Mag talk about the love she had for her husband for months now. He'd considered it wistfully, but never seriously thought he'd feel it. He'd been too numb to even mourn the fact - passed being a little bummed out.

The daunting feeling spiraled into a panic. His eyes felt hot and his swallows got thicker. _I don't know._ It was stupid for the question to put him in such a state. Of course, he hadn't been in love. His life consisted of different variations of numb. This impending doom was just the most recent. That didn't explain why he remembered blurry features and deep red curls…fierce green eyes. Then he remembered blood and bruises and the smell of gunpowder. _Why do memories always have to take that turn?_

That was it. That was all he remembered. No one tells you plums are slow workers. Even so, Bucky sat in his hesitation for a moment more. The new unsettled feeling made him feel sick and anxious. Maybe there had been someone. Something didn't seem altogether ridiculous about the thought of someone being able to find what was left of his humanity during all those years…buried under all that programming.

"I'm not sure." He eventually settled on his answer. Mag clapped her hand over her thigh a few times. It was a habit of hers. Bucky looked at her like she had the answers to everything. "How do you know?"

Mag had said he sounded old sometimes. Bucky felt old. Unless he was around Mag, he felt like a little kid. Naive and curious.

"Hmm." She closed her eyes and nodded. "You'd know if you'd been in love…or you might not - don't know what you forgot."

The memory of red curls faded even more. Bucky sighed as the memories slipped away from him again.

"Everything." The blood and the bruises and smell of gunpowder clung in his brain. "Everything good."

* * *

"Where you from, Jahmal? Don't think I've ever asked. You a local lad?"

It was winter now and Bucky had offered Mag a hot chocolate before he'd remembered he didn't have all that much money. Even so…if he had enough for plums he'd have enough to treat the only person he shared more than two words with.

"Few towns away." He replied to the dull brown in his mug. He looked Mag in the eye more nowadays, even if she couldn't see him. It was probably good practice. _Social interaction that doesn't end in death._ He had to practice somewhere.

"Your family still there?"

"Passed on." He kept it short. Of course, his family was dead. 1917 was a long time ago. They were his foggiest memories if he had any of them at all.

"Good upbringing though?"

 _I don't know._ Bucky ran a hand through his hair. He'd already had his daily identity crisis. He was trying to keep it down to one or two.

"Yeah. Same as everyone else, I guess."

"Hmm." Mag shook her head. "Everyone has their stories, hon. Siblings?"

"Err…" Bucky had a sister. Yes. He had siblings. He didn't know how many. He definitely had a sister or two. Bonnie, maybe, or...No, that wasn't it. She'd probably be about the same age as Mag…for someone who avoided eye contact Bucky spent a long time staring at her then. Maybe his family weren't all dead.

* * *

"Six plums, please." Bucky kept his hands in his pockets. It was spring again and there was a younger man running the fruit stand today. He glanced around the market after the man had nodded and started rolling the plums into the brown paper bag. Mag wasn't a very loud talker. Her gums spluttered out Romanian with soft edges. The market still felt quiet without her.

Even the exchange of money and fruit was silent. Bucky stalled as he put his left hand back in his pocket. He'd been doing fine for over a year now. He could handle a little more social interaction.

"When's the usual woman coming back? Mag?"

The fruit man looked back to his eyes like he was surprised Bucky was still there. The man's eyes softened and he looked like Mag. Her son maybe. Alex, she'd said his name was. He'd forgotten they'd never met given how much Mag talked about him.

"I'm sorry," He said. "Magdalene died. Two days ago now. In her sleep. Did you know her?"

Bucky only stared forward and felt his grip on the paper bag slacken.

"I -" Bucky finally managed to blink. He wasn't sure he could ever form words again. Mag was dead. Social interaction wasn't meant to end in death anymore. Not anymore. _No, no, no, no._ The denial came on fast and thick. He managed to shake his head. "She was the only person I did know."

He wouldn't make sense to Alex. He walked away before he could ask any more questions. He didn't want to talk about Mag. He wanted to talk _to_ Mag. His friend. The woman who'd thought he was equal to her. The first person to make him smile and laugh. Bucky's eyes began to burn as he walked through the crowd. His face didn't feel like stone anymore. He'd forgotten to be undercover these past few months. She had been the only person he'd known when he didn't know himself and she hadn't even known his real name. _James Buchanan Barnes._ How hard would it have been to tell her that was his stupid name? Most days Bucky was numb to all his hell. This wasn't numb. This was what dying felt like. He'd seen it in the eyes of hundreds of people. That look they had when he snuffed out their light. That look was how he felt.

He sat on his crappy bed and shoved away his crappy sleeping bag when he got home. Or what he laughably called a home. He shoved his head in his hands. Now what? Mag had been the first friend he'd ever had - because she was the first friend he'd remember. He ran a hand through his hair and realised he was crying. He hadn't cried since…He remembered all the times he'd cried. He remembered all the times he'd hurt so much he'd screamed. Mag didn't get that first memory. She deserved better than that anyway.

Mag was the first friend he'd remember. Remember everything good.

* * *

 **AUTHORS NOTE 2, THE BUCKENING: This depressed me like none of my other stories have depressed me before. For some wildly more cheerful (with a side of angst) Bucky recovery/Winter Soldier fics. Visit my profile! Until the next plot bunny apocalypse...farewell!**


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